


Before We Sleep

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Horror, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Prostitution, Scars, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At fifteen, Dean Winchester loses his father to a house fire, leaving his mother to move him and his brother to Louisiana. She teaches them how to be hunters but still allows them live normal lives. Sam goes to college, Dean takes up the "family business". At twenty-six, Dean goes on a werewolf hunt with Bobby Singer, up in Montana. When he comes back, he doesn't come back human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean Winchester what on _earth_ do you think you’re doing, hm?”

 

Dean smiled over at Missouri Moseley as he passed her house, shirt removed, shotgun over his shoulders. “Mornin’ Missouri!” he called with a slight wave. He listened to her harumph, but he continued on his way.

 

“Gonna poke somebody’s eye out, boy!”

 

“No I ain’t!” he called back over his shoulder, continuing his way down the road. The sun beat down on his tanned skin, making his freckles come out and stay stark against his skin. Sweat made his body feel slick and sticky but he ignored it in favor of concentrating on finally making it back home. He had been on a hunt for a few days and since his mother had wanted proof he could do this on his own, he had gone out and done it. She would probably be furious, since taking on a werewolf on his own may not have been the brightest idea he had ever had.

 

The sight of their old, beat up mail box made him smile further; he had missed being home. The long driveway made it possible for him to come up with a decent story so he could at least defend his lunacy. Especially since his mother’s car was definitely in the driveway. The old, white house greeted him with a groan of the porch, a squeak of the front door, and the smell of broasted chicken.

 

“Mom?” he called to the front parlor, which they called the foyer, since they had never had a foyer before this house. It made them sound fancier, according to his mother. “Mom, I’m home!”

 

“Dean Winchester!” Mary Winchester appeared from around the corner, apron on, face furious, hands on her hips. “Where the hell have you been?!”

 

“On a hunt, Ma,” he replied as he set his gun down by the front door. He removed the shirt he had been wearing from his back pocket, letting it hang over his arm.

 

“A hunt?”

 

“Yes. Mom, I’m twenty-six, I think I can handle going on a hunt by myself. It was just a werewolf-.”

 

“Dean, I was worried sick about you. I thought you had gone off to Shreveport and gotten yourself killed by a damn vamp!” Mary walked up to him, cupping his face in her hands.

 

“Mom, I’m fine. See? No scratches. No bites. It wasn’t a big deal. I brought him down with a silver bullet, stabbed him in the heart with a silver blade. Easy stuff.” Dean smiled at his mother warmly. “Back home in time for dinner.”

 

“You’re late,” she replied with a light smack to his cheek.

 

He rolled his eyes once her back was turned and she was going back into the kitchen. “Not that late.”

 

“I saw that, young man!”

 

_Of course she did_ , he thought helplessly before following her into the kitchen. There was plenty of food up on the table; chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, green beans, wax beans, biscuits. It was as if they were expecting someone.

 

“Jesus, Ma, where’s the party at?” he joked with a grin. It was then that he noticed how his mother was dressed; new floral dress, nice heels, her hair was done up in pretty curls, she had even threw on a bit of make up. “...Are you going on a date tonight?”

 

“If you _must_ know, yes, I have a gentleman caller coming over for dinner,” she said.

 

Dean shuddered. “Don’t ever say “gentleman caller” ever again, alright?” Dean tried not to think of his mother dating _other_ men, since that was just a weird concept for him. She hadn’t dated anyone throughout his childhood but now all of a sudden she was acting like Suzy Schoolgirl.

 

“It’s not so strange for men to find me attractive. You _did_ get your good looks from me, you know.” Mary pinched his cheek and he rolled his eyes as he sat down at the table.

 

He wanted to say something about how if she had been so worried about him then why hadn’t she sent someone out to look for him, or hell, why hadn’t she come looking for him herself? She was going on a date, not looking for her oldest son. But he held his tongue, since that was something his father would have done, not his mother. She probably had _known_ that he was alright; mother’s intuition and all. Plus, she knew, he was the best hunter since her and most monsters turned tail and fled when he came around anyway.

 

“So, what’s his name?” he asked as he reached to pick up a greenbean, popping it into his mouth. His mother’s always had a satisfying crunch; it wasn’t that canned, mushy, bullshit from the market.

 

“You’ll meet him in five minutes, can you wait five minutes?” she asked.

 

“No.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Sorry.” He wasn’t all that sorry and they both knew it.

 

“Do _not_ ruin this for me. Do not mention hunting. Do not mention monsters or where you’ve been for the past few days, do you understand me?” She was holding a wooden spoon in her hand, which was a slight threat, since she was one of those parents that never believed their kid was too old for a whooping.

 

“Yup.”

 

“Good.” She patted his head and then the doorbell was ringing. “Oh damn it, he’s early. Do I look alright?”

 

“You’ve got an apron on.” He almost laughed when she rolled her eyes and quickly ripped it free, heading to the front door. “Hey, at least he’s punctual! That’s good, right?”

 

“Be nice, Dean.”

 

Again, Dean rolled his eyes before turning them on the spread. The food all looked good and smelled good, but his mind kept going back to his mother telling him she had been worried about him. If she had been so worried, why hadn’t she come looking for him? Why hadn’t she _sent_ someone to look for him? He frowned, shaking his head. His mother was not his father - she was better than that. If he had been in real trouble, she would have known.

 

Right?

 

“Logan, this is my oldest son, Dean.”

 

Dean turned in his chair so he could look the potential boyfriend over. Logan was tall, taller than him that was for sure, and broad. The guy probably weighed close to 230 pounds. Not to mention he was handsome; older, but handsome. “Hey.” He waved a hand.

 

Logan nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Logan Walker.” Logan held out a hand, so Dean took it, and they did the ‘who can squeeze harder’ game. “Strong grip.” Logan laughed, sounding almost nervous, but Dean didn’t laugh, he just stared at the guy, sizing him up.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Mary’s lips twitched into a tight, nervous smile before she took Logan’s arm and led him over to a chair to have a seat. “I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place, I know it’s farther back than I described.”

 

“No trouble at all, Mary.” Logan smiled, the smile too fond for Dean’s taste. As if they had already _had_ a date before this one.

 

Dean frowned, reaching to start serving himself but his mother cleared her throat, and he gave pause. “What?”

 

“Dean, we haven’t said Grace yet.”

 

He snorted out loud, probably too loud. “Grace? Ma, we’ve _never_ said Grace-.”

 

“Sure we have,” she replied quickly. “Every meal.”

 

Logan chuckled. “Mary, it’s okay if you don’t say Grace in your home, that’s just my preference, but I can do that privately, I don’t need an audience.”

 

“No, no, we _will_ say Grace, it’s something I did as a girl, and I’m reinforcing it right now.” Mary took Logan’s outstretched hand and held out her other to Dean. “Dean?”

 

He stared at his mother’s hand and began to recall all of the times he had needed to hold her hand; crossing the street, walking through crowds, in comfort when they mourned, playing games, but never this. Never _Grace_. But he slid his hand into hers and then into Logan’s other anyway, not wanting to disappoint her. If he made her miserable, she would probably throw him out, and he didn’t have enough of a steady income to survive on his own.

 

“Oh Lord, we thank you for this plentiful... surely delicious food,” Logan began, his head bowed, eyes closed. Dean watched them both, unconvinced this was really his mother sitting at the table. “I thank you for this excellent company and for the opportunity to meet Mary Winchester and her son. We thank you for our good lives and our happiness. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

 

“Amen,” his mother muttered in echo.

 

Dean paused, still unsure this was really happening. “Amen,” he said with a shrug, pulling his hands back. “Can we eat now?”

 

“Yes, Honey, go on,” Mary replied.

 

“Good.” He reached for the nearest plate, eagerly snatching up three pieces of chicken, trying not to pick _all_ of the good pieces, but he surely tried to get the better of the pieces, mainly to keep Logan from getting the good ones.

 

“So, Dean, Mary tells me you work at an autoshop?”

 

“Yeah.” The mashed potatoes went on in a satisfying glob.

 

“She also said you own a ‘67 Chevy Impala?”

 

He glanced up at Logan slowly. “You know cars?” he asked skeptically.

 

Logan nodded. “I’ve got a ‘67 Charger out front.”

 

“Not bad,” he admitted with a small nod. In reality he was squealing on the inside like a little girl. The Dodge Charger was a _bad ass_ car but he wasn’t about to let Logan have a win tonight. This man was trying to move in on his mother and no matter how old he got, he would defend her until his dying breath. Especially against men.

 

“You could take a spin if you wanted,” Logan said slowly, glancing over at Mary as if seeking approval.

 

He too looked at his mother and saw her nod with a smile. He wanted to roll his eyes but held back the urge, instead popping a piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. “Maybe.”

 

“Oh, Dean, stop it,” Mary said tiredly. “Be polite.”

 

“I _am_ ,” he insisted angrily.

 

“You are not. You’re being a brat. You’re twenty-six, grow up.”

 

“Look, just because _you_ like him, doesn’t mean _I_ have to!”

 

“You don’t even _know_ him!”

 

Dean looked over at Logan and saw him staring at them with a horrifyingly uncomfortable expression. _Good_ , Dean thought. “I don’t need to know him, Ma. And once he learns everything there is to know about us, he’ll be packing anyway.”

 

“Dean, stop it.” Mary slammed her fork down. “That is enough.”

 

“Maybe I should go...” Logan said slowly, cutting their attention back to him. He flinched at the sudden whiplashed glares.

 

“No, please, don’t leave Logan,” Mary protested just as Dean replied with a, “See ya.”

 

“Maybe this was a bad idea for tonight, Mary. We should have broke him in easier.” Logan began to stand up, slowly wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Logan, _please_.” Mary stood and followed him to the front of the house and back outside.

 

He could hear them talking but the sound was muffled. There was a long pause and then the Charger was staring up. Mary returned after, walking into the kitchen with a dejected look on her face. Dean bit off a piece of a biscuit, glancing over at her in slight worry. Maybe he had pushed it too far.

 

“ _Why_ did you do that?” she whispered.

 

Dean shrugged. “Wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, hunters don’t date non-hunters, just ends in tragedy, you’re the one who taught me that.”

 

“I was _trying_ to find a normal man so I could finally _live_ a normal life, Dean!” There were tears in her voice and eyes as she turned to face him. “How _dare_ you ruin my date like that? You are _twenty-six_ years old, you’re _lucky_ I allow you to stay under my roof! Most parents would have tossed their kids out years ago, but I allowed you to stay.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and took a sip of lemonade. “Mom, you can call him tomorrow, okay? Jesus, it’s not that big of a deal.”

 

“How would _you_ feel if I came along and ruined one of your dates?! Oh wait, I forgot, you haven’t _been_ on a date in ten years!”

 

Dean glared at his plate. “Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” he muttered. “You moved me down _here_ , away from everyone I knew and liked, and then expected me and Sammy to just adapt.”

 

“I got you out of Kansas so you could stop _hurting_ Dean.” Mary sank down into the chair next to him, reaching over to cup and turn his face toward her. “Dean, your father died and you were a wreck. You barely left your room, I couldn’t get you to even look at me again. I had to get you out of that place, far away. So, yes, I moved here because I had friends down here... Even Bobby moved down here for you.”

 

Dean pulled out of her hand, looking away. The November before his sixteenth birthday, their house had caught fire, trapping his father and brother inside. Sam had made it out alive with some burns to remember the event by, but his father hadn’t made it. The man had not been a _good_ father or even a good man, but he had still been his father. It had killed Dean inside to simply move on from the event. The police still suspected arson but the case had never been solved and had gone cold years ago.

 

“Aren’t you happy, Honey? Even a little?” Mary began to pet his hair, being gentle and kind, as always.

 

“Yeah, Ma, I’m happy.” It was true; he had grown up without his father constantly looming over him, making him stand up taller, shoulders back, and disciplined to the point where he walked like a soldier. But, he also hadn’t been able to share his sixteenth birthday with the man or had his first drink with him either. Bobby had become his father... of course, Bobby had always really been his father.

 

“Say it and mean it, Dean.”

 

He looked over at her slowly, trying to smile a little. “I am, Ma, I’m happy. I really am. I just... hate seeing you with other men, I’m sorry. That’s my hangup, not yours.”

 

“I really like him, Dean,” she whispered.

 

He nodded a bit. “Okay. Well, call him, tell him I said I was sorry, and that he can come over whenever.”

 

“Oh, I was planning to,” she said firmly. “No matter if you wanted me to or not. You’re an adult now Dean, it is time you start looking for a place to call your own.”

 

Dean wanted to roll his eyes but he kept the behavior in check; with his luck, if he rolled his eyes one more time, she’d throw him out tonight. “Okay,” he replied, his abetite suddenly curbed. “I’m gonna hit the hay early, Mom, I’m tired.”

 

“Of course, Honey.” She leaned over to kiss his temple. “Get some sleep. I’ll clean up.”

 

One more nod and Dean eased himself up out of his seat, feeling his body turn into a million weights. It was an effort to make his way back up the stairs, but somehow, he managed to get up to his bedroom. The walls were still covered in posters of hot babes and cars, the bedspread still the same plaid, and his desk still cluttered with papers from cases and books on monsters and lore. Not that he ever read the books, that had always been Sam’s job.

 

Until he had gone off to college.

 

A pile of books sat precariously on the edge of his desk and he reached over to knock them over in anger but stopped himself. Too much noise and his mother would come flying up the steps to see if he were alright, and by then, he was hoping to be naked and rubbing one out. He hadn’t _been_ on a date in ten years, partially because of his father’s death, and partially because he wasn’t sure if girls still did it for him. He was in limbo when it came to his sexuality, and while he didn’t have his father’s ‘you have to be straight’ laws anymore, he still felt the urge to be with a woman.

 

Making sure his door was locked, Dean slowly stripped out his clothes, casually touching himself in places as he did; along his chest, down his stomach, a hand wrapping around his hip, against his pubic bone, fingertips brushing along his base. He shivered and felt his skin rise with goosebumps as he began to focus on really touching himself, pretending his hands were his lover’s hands instead. Going on a date would be nice, but hunters were only supposed to date other hunters, that was just the law of the jungle.

 

Dean felt his cock twitch, slowly rising with his little touches, and caresses. Eventually, it stood so hard the head brushed his stomach, and his toes curled against the hardwood floor, his balls tightening with much needed attention. He hardly ever took time for himself anymore; not only did he not have the time but masturbating in this house was like asking for trouble. The walls were too thin and he didn’t need his mother hearing what he was up to.

 

There was an old computer sitting on his desk, which he hardly used, but only for occassions like these. Sitting down in his chair, Dean slumped down and waited for the screen to flicker to life. Their internet connection was slow but after what felt like five thousand years, he was able to pull up pictures of women in various states of undress, spreading their legs and bending over for his fantasized pleasure. Dean wrapped a hand around his erection, stroking himself slowly, trying to keep it up, but the more he stared at the women and their extremely fake orgasm faces, Dean typed in a new search item:

 

hot naked men

 

He could feel his face turning red as pictures of gorgeous men with hardened cocks began to glide past his retinas. He had to suppress a moan when he started to delve into the gay porn on the internet. Ten minutes later he was jerking his cock quickly to match the pace of another guy on video, his breath hitching as he watched the cam-guy’s cock slick up with precome, the head turning a bright red. Dean glanced down at himself but he couldn’t tell what color his cockhead was, not in the dark, but he could imagine it was just as red. A whimper escaped past his defenses when the guy came, spurting a hot, thick load down his cock and along his hand.

 

The fire in his dick was so strong he wanted to scream his pleasure to the world, but he bit his lip and waited as the pressure finally released. His own cock jerked and twitched in his hand, spilling just as thick of a load onto his hand, hot, and messy. After, Dean sat back in his chair, still watching as the guy began to jerk himself again, coming for a second time, but he didn’t bother to try that. He just relaxed, even bringing his hand up to his mouth to taste himself.

 

Bitter.

 

Dean shuddered and reached for some tissues to clean up his mess. He _really_ needed to clean the pipes more but he couldn’t in this house. Maybe his mother was right, maybe he really _did_ need to start looking for places to call his own.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You think she would have known if I were really in trouble?” Dean asked Bobby the following day at work. They had been working on an Oldsmobile all day and were finally sitting down to have a drink and a break.

 

“Dean, she’s your mother, of _course_ she woulda known if you were in real trouble. Besides, after you took off, I know for a damn fact she called everyone she knew up to see if they’d seen you,” Bobby replied with a wave of his hand.

 

“She call you?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Dean nodded, feeling better about how calm his mother had been when he had come home. “How’s Baby?”

 

“She’s alright. Still makin’ that damn noise. I don’t know _what_ you did to her down in Shreveport.”

 

“I don’t either, it’s miracle we even made it back this far before she gave out on me. I told you I’d work on her myself, but-.”

 

“You ain’t got the time and I’m doing just fine lookin’ her over myself. You know I won’t mess up your car, Dean.” Bobby grabbed a dirty rag from his pocket to wipe his forehead. “Hotter than Satan’s asshole out here today.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean replied tiredly. He wanted to go home and take a long nap but Bobby was right, he didn’t have time for anything anymore. He didn’t even have time to take care of his own car. “I’m just glad she broke down two miles from the house and no further. I was burning up by the time I got home.”

 

Bobby nodded in understanding. “Yeah, yer lucky you didn’ get heat stroke.”

 

Dean grunted and nodded, finishing off his bottled water. “Heard there was a werewolf case down in Montana.”

 

“Dean, you just _took_ a damn case, take a break.”

 

“Bobby, you know how I get restless if I don’t take a case. When Dad was alive-.”

 

“When your father was alive, he drug you out to shoot and play cops and robbers too damn early, boy. Don’t you try to make a case about “When your father was alive”, not with me.” Bobby shook his head firmly. “I ain’t sayin’ I wanted him dead, he sure as hell didn’ deserve to go the way he did, but you and your brother have been better off without him, and so’s your Mama, got it?”

 

Dean tightened his mouth into a thin line and didn’t say anything else on the matter. “I wanna go hunt that wolf, Bobby.”

 

“He a lone wolf or in a pack?” Bobby asked.

 

“Pack, I think.”

 

“I don’ want you goin’ after a pack by yerself, you wanna go after a pack, we can both go.”

 

“You mean it?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’ get too damn excited, it ain’t exactly a Mardi Gras vacation.” Bobby stood up, wiping his forehead one more time. “Alright, let’s see if we can get this baby to start up.”

 

Dean nodded. “Bobby?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Bobby paused and shook his head. “Don’ thank me yet. Thank me when we get back here in one piece.”

 

\--

 

“Mom, I’ll be _with_ Bobby, you don’t need to be there,” Dean insisted as he continued to pack his bag. “It’ll be the weekend, we’ll go in, we’ll gank the bastards, and then we’ll leave. It’s a open and close case.”

 

“Dean, I don’t like you two just going off and hunting a pack of wolves like this,” Mary replied as she leaned against his doorframe.

 

“Which is why I didn’t tell you about it until now.” Dean sighed and zipped up his duffle, slowly turning to face her. “Mom, I’m twenty-six, I can handle this on my own or with Bobby, I don’t need my mommy around to hold my hand, okay?”

 

Mary blinked some tears away before nodding. “I know,” she whispered. “You’re grown up and you’re one of the best hunters I’ve seen in years... Maybe _the_ best, Dean... But I”m your mother and I reserve the right to be afraid for you.”

 

“Okay, I get that, it’s okay Mom, you can be afraid for me... But I will come back to you, I promise. It won’t be that bad, honest.” Dean smiled at her with reassurance before walking over to give her a tight hug. “I love you, Mom.”

 

“I love you too, Dean,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You come home in one piece, you hear me?”

 

“I _will_.” Dean placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek before he stepped around her and went to meet Bobby out front in his truck. They had done cases like these a million times, it wasn’t going to be any different from the others.

 

“Ready?” Bobby asked him as he slung his bag into the back.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Good.”

 

They both climbed into the truck and they both waved to Mary, who was now standing on the porch, waving them off into the night. They were leaving long before sunrise, hoping they would reach their destination in a day, if not less. If Bobby drove like he did, which was doubtful, they’d make it there by the following night. Especially if they kept their stops infrequent.

 

“Hey Bobby,” he said to break the silence.

 

“Hrm.”

 

“You miss Sammy?”

 

Bobby paused before he nodded. “Yeah, I miss him.”

 

“Me too.” Dean stared out the window sadly. Sam was off at Stanford, becoming a big shot by studying pre-law. He had gotten in on a full ride, which was by far the coolest thing a Winchester had done in a few generations. Sam excelled where Dean failed, bringing honor to the family name. He was the disappointment, not Sam.

 

“You’ll see him soon,” Bobby pointed out. “He’s comin’ home for Thanksgivin’ and Christmas, ain’t he?”

 

“Should be,” Dean agreed. “But who knows. You know how he is.”

 

“Hrm.”

 

Silence fell over them again but it was a comfortable silence. Neither of them ever really felt the need to talk; their company was enough. But after it wore on too long, Dean _had_ to reach over and turn the radio on. He flinched when _classical_ poured out of the speakers. Immediately, he shut it off again, and looked over at Bobby in disbelief.

 

“What?” Bobby asked defensively.

 

“Really? _Really_?”

 

“Oh shut up, ya idjit. Better than that trash _you_ call music.”

 

“Dad’s music wasn’t trash!” He hadn’t meant to sound so angry but there some things about his father that he would never not defend. Like the man’s damn good taste in music.

 

This time, the silence afterward, was uncomfortable.

 

\--

 

“You take the West wing, I got the East, meet in the middle,” Bobby whispered.

 

Dean nodded before turning and walking slowly down the hall. The trail of the werewolves had led them to an abandoned warehouse where they now had too much ground to cover without splitting up. There were signs of the wolves all over; the smell, strewn body parts, the blood. It was all over the walls and floor. Dean wrinkled his nose at the smell of rotting body; no matter how many times he smelled a corpse, he would never get used to how awful it was.

 

Up ahead was a corner that he had to carefully peer around and his heart almost slammed in his chest when he finally caught sight of... something. There was a body on the floor, the muzzle of an overly large dog eating the innards. Dean shuddered and tried to fight the urge to gag. He was about to take a step when the dog - no, wolf - raised its head and sniffed the air. He held his breath; it could probably smell him. He sure as hell wasn’t downwind of the creature.

 

Gritting his teeth, Dean stepped out from around the corner and held his gun at level with the creatures forehead, and waited. It snarled and began to run at him, jaws open, and bloody red. He shot the gun three times before it finally collapsed at his feet with a loud yelp. Dean frowned, kneeling down beside the massive creature; it was bigger than a wild wolf, it had more bulk and mass, its head was bigger than his own. He had never met a werewolf that turned _into_ a wolf before, this was new. Removing his knife, he slid it into the thing’s chest, watching as the fur began to sprout crimson flowers.

 

“You okay?”

 

“ _Jesus_ , Bobby!” he hissed, reaching to clutch at his chest as his heart slowly steadied down from its jumpstart.

 

“You didn’t hear me comin?”

 

“No.”

 

Bobby tsked. “Guess I am still pretty damn quiet for an old fart, now ain’t I?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and stood. “You ever seen a werewolf... like this.” He gestured at the animal on the ground.

 

“No,” Bobby admitted in wonder. “He ain’t turnin’ back either.”

 

“I know, it’s weird.” Dean shook his head, following Bobby down the hallway slowly. “You get the other wing already?”

 

“Yeah, wasn’t nothin’ over there except bones and some chicken feathers. They must’ve started out there and moved over here when they ran out of room for dead shit.” Bobby pulled on his coat before he could go around a corner first, which made Dean roll his eyes, but he could also feel his chest becoming all warm and fuzzy. His father would have let him go ahead and walk around first, but not Bobby. Bobby made sure he was safe first and foremost.

 

“Why aren’t they running here?” Dean whispered. “I mean, I fired my gun, if there was a group of-.” Something grabbed onto his ankle and yanked him down. He cried out as he fell, trying to roll over and kick the creature in the nose, but it was dark, and it was practically trying to gnaw his foot off. “Bobby!”

 

Bobby’s gun went off but the creature didn’t let him go, and from the sound of it, they had company. He was on his own. Dean scrambled for purchase on the floor, still kicking and struggling. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!” he yelled, finally getting enough leverage to knock his boot against its forehead. The wolf yelped and released him, allowing him to scramble back and reach for his gun, but it was far away, so he had no choice but to brandish his knife at it.

 

The wolf snarled, its jaws ruby red in the dim light, and its eyes glowing yellow. It was even bigger than the one he had shot and stabbed. When it snarled and snapped, Dean felt his bladder give way, and the smell of piss filled his nostrils. The beast lunged and Dean threw up his arms in automatic defense, screaming as its teeth ripped through his arms. It outweighed him one hundred to one, and he could only scream and kick and fight, stabbing it at random, but never once did he meet his prize.

 

He felt the creature start to shake him and soon he was a ragdoll and his head smacked hard against the concrete floor. His vision turned spotty and he could only pray he stayed awake long enough to stab the damn thing in the chest. There was blood in his eyes and on his face and his arms were a shredded mess. Something hot and warm streamed over him and it stung his wounds; it took him a moment to realize the wolf had pissed on him. Dean groaned as the ammonia made his head swim. He was going to pass out.

 

He was going to

 

\--

 

“We’re losing him!”

 

There was something in his throat and the lights were too bright over his head. He flinched at the light, his body feeling as if he had been hit by a truck. It was only then he remembered the werewolf pack. Bobby must have gotten him out alive because the people standing over him looked as if they were doctors. There were too many beeps and too many voices, but one stood out to him in the chaos.

 

“You have to save my boy! Please!”

 

It was Bobby. Bobby was begging them to save him. _His boy_ , he had called Dean. He couldn’t help but try and smile a bit just as his head swam again.

 

\--

 

“Hey... Dean? Dean are you awake? Dean-.”

 

Dean groaned as he finally wrenched his eyes open. Bobby was standing over him, his hand pressed to Dean’s forehead. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “What the hell happened, Bobby?”

 

Bobby practically collapsed into a chair next to the gurney. “When I got to you, a damn wolf had you in its mouth, shakin’ you around like a damn doll. I shot him and then stabbed him, and I broke one hundred tryin’ to get you to the hospital.”

 

Dean took a deep breath, reaching up to touch his nose; there was an oxygen line blowing puffs into his body. It was helpful; he didn’t have to work as hard to breathe this way. “... Bobby,” he muttered brokenly. “I’m gonna be like them-.”

 

“We don’t know that, Dean,” Bobby insisted quickly. “Those wolves weren’t like the ones we’re used to, maybe it’s different.”

 

“Bobby, if I Turn, you gotta kill me-.”

 

“I am _not_ gonna kill you boy, don’t you ask that of me... I can’t...” Bobby’s voice broke too, tears in his eyes. “I can’t bring your body back to your Mama, not when I promised her I’d keep ya safe.”

 

There were tears in his eyes too and since his father wasn’t here, he let them fall anyway, staining his face and neck. “I don’t wanna be a monster, Bobby.”

 

“It’ll be okay, Dean. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a _cure_. Okay? We just gotta keep ya from eatin’ human hearts, and you _can_. You can fight this, Dean.” Bobby squeezed his hand, cradling it afterward. “Okay? You have to believe you can fight it.”

 

He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe he could fight the urge and the beast within, but he hardly ever believed his own lies. “Bobby...”

 

“Dean, listen to me, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

 

“If I do... hurt someone, you gotta promise me you’ll hunt me just like anyone else.” Dean stared at Bobby hard, begging him to do this. “Please. I can’t kill people, Bobby, I just... I can’t.” Bobby looked away and Dean reached forward to turn the old man’s chin back to him. “ _Promise_ me.”

 

Eventually, Bobby nodded, his face grim. “Alright boy, I promise.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“What happened? Oh my God-.”

 

Dean limped his way into the house, trying to skirt past his mother’s flapping hands as she freaked out over his condition. He was in a wheelchair since one of his legs were broken and his collarbone was also shattered, leaving his arm in a sling. There was a gash on his left cheek which had stitches and he was variously bruised and beat up, but at least he was alive.

 

For now, at least.

 

“Mary, sit down,” Bobby said quietly as they came to rest in the living room. “Please.”

 

Dean didn’t look at his mother as she slowly sat on the couch, but he could feel her worry from his spot in the wheelchair, his eyes focused instead on the rug. Bobby’s voice faded out but his mother’s devastated scream made him flinch. He could hear her sobbing as she realized her child was now what they hunted. He didn’t say anything, only allowing his lips to form into a grim line, his eyes downcast, realizing that his life would end with guns blazing and probably a dead body beneath his feet.

 

“There has to be a cure,” his mother muttered after the shock had worn away. “We have to be able to _do_ something, Bobby.”

 

“I’ve been lookin’, so far, I’ve gotten-.”

 

“Nothing,” Dean said, cutting Bobby off and finally looking up. “He’s gotten nothing. You know why? Because there _isn’t_ a cure. I’m a werewolf, fair and square. Ain’t nothing any of us can do.”

 

“Don’t you say that,” Mary insisted desperately. “ _Don’t_ you say that, damn it! We will fix this, Dean.”

 

“Your Mother’s right,” Bobby cut in. “We won’t give up on you, if you don’t Dean.. and even if you do.”

 

He wanted to tell them that he had already given up but he held his tongue. They didn’t need his pessimism on top of everything else. Besides, he was exhausted and in pain. “Bobby... I’m tired.”

 

“Sure, sure. Figured he’ll have to stay down here.”

 

“He can have my room.” Mary stood and rushed down the hall to get her room ready while Bobby began to push him along in the house.

 

“Ma, where are you gonna sleep?” Dean asked, even as he felt his eyes struggle to stay open.

 

“I can sleep on the couch, it’ll be fine, Dean.”

 

Dean sighed, allowing both Bobby and his mother help him out of the wheelchair, gingerly setting him up on the bed so he could sleep as comfortably as possible. He hated not being able to flop onto his stomach but he had no choice in the matter, so he just shut his eyes, and began to relax. He listened to Bobby and his mother leave the room, and then on their whispers. They were doing their best not to make too much noise, but he could hear their conversation anyway.

 

“Bobby, what are we going to do? I can’t... I can’t kill my son.”

 

“He made me promise-.”

 

“Promise what?” his mother’s voice rose slightly, sounding hysterical.

 

Bobby shhed her quickly. “He had me promise him I’d... I’d be the one to do it if we had to.”

 

“Bobby, if you go after my boy, I _swear_ -.”

 

“I know, Mary, I ain’t gonna kill him. Just letting him hear what he needs to hear right now, that’s _all_.”

 

Dean sighed, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. When he had been growing up, his mother had told him that angels were watching over him. He had never believed in angels; as far as he was concered, there were no angels, there was no God, and no Heaven. Demons and Hell, yes, but nothing good. He couldn’t believe in those things, at least not for himself.

 

That did not stop him from quietly praying for absolution anyway.

 

“What am I going to do?” his mother asked brokenly, her voice on the verge of tears.

 

“What we always do,” Bobby replied quietly, “fight.”

 

\--

 

Dean stared emptily at the bowl of Reese’s Puffs his mother had poured for him while Bobby poured over books and his mother made them pancakes. He wasn’t hungry enough for real food; he wasn’t even hungry enough for the cereal she had insisted he eat.

 

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since the werewolf attack and he was out of the sling on his arm, even though the doctor told him to take it easy and his leg was still in a cast. He could at least get around on one crutch very carefully. Unfortunately, the hot topic in the Winchester household was still werewolves.

 

“You know,” his mother was saying. “Maybe, he got lucky. If he were a werewolf, he’d be healing rapidly.”

 

“True,” Bobby admitted. “But, that wolf had him in its jaws, shakin’ him around. He’s covered in bruises and scars, Mary. No way he didn’t get the virus. It’s gotta be a new strain... ain’t ever met a werewolf who turned _into_ a wolf before.”

 

He sighed, letting his spoon settle against his bowl. “Can we talk about something else please?” he asked tiredly, his voice dragging across the metaphorical ground in desperation. “Please?”

 

“Honey, we’re just trying to help-”

 

“I _know_ , and I appreicate it, but I just need a break from this shit, okay?” He turned his eyes on her, hoping his exhaustion was apparent enough for her. “I will _pay_ you to drop the werewolf talk.”

 

“Alright,” Bobby said. “No more talkin’... for now.”

 

“Thank you.” He could have slithered out of his chair and onto the ground in relief if he had the strength to slide his ass out of its current position.

 

“Have you been sleeping?” Mary asked.

 

He shrugged. Lying was probably his best bet, since he had not been sleeping well at all, but telling her he was would rest easier on her... however, he could look her in the eye and say, “Yes, Mom”, and she would be able to call his bluff just from the dark bags under his eyes. He ahd caught his image in the mirror this morning and it was alarming; he had aged ten years in two weeks from lack of sleep.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I asked if you’ve been sleeping?”

 

“I dunno, Mom, what do you think?” he asked, wondering if he sounded as tired as he felt.

 

“Do you want to lie down on the couch?”

 

“No.” He wanted to get up and take a walk outside. He’d been confined to the house for two weeks; it was like being under house arrest but with less mobility.

 

“Honey-.”

 

“ _Mom_. Jesus, just drop it.” He turned and grabbed for his crutch, too fast, because it ended up clattering to the floor instead of in his head. “Son of a bitch.”

 

Bobby reached for it instead, helping him get up in the process, which was just sa annoying, but Dean still held his tongue. Someone was knocking on the door. His mother left them in the kitchen as they carefully got up and limped their way out of the room toward the living room. He jerked when he heard her squeal excitedly like she had just been told she would be receiving one million dollars every week for the rest of her life.

 

Dean looked up and saw a tall, brunette man standing in the foyer with her, his arms wrapped tightly around her small torso. He blinked a few times. That couldn’t be...

 

“Sam?” he blurted out.

 

Sam turned his excited, labrador smile on him next. “Dean!”

 

A relieved smile passed over his face and he could have collapsed into Sammy’s arms if Bobby hadn’t had a good hold of his good arm. “Sammy.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, what _happened_ to you? You lose a fight with the lawn mower?” Sam smiled teasingly, even though there was still real worry in his eyes.

 

Dean turned his eyes on his mother in accusation; she had promised him she would tell Sam, but clearly she hadn’t. “I got attacked,” he replied.

 

“By _who_? Or... what?”

 

“Werewolves.”

 

“Holy shit... I-...” Sam trailed off, his eyes falling to the gash on Dean’s cheek. “Dean... you weren’t... bit, were you?”

 

He could only nod slowly. Sam took a step back and Dean had to force himself not to flinch. Of course, Sam had every right to step away; his brother was a monster now, what they hunted for a living. “Yeah, Sammy, I was.”

 

“They weren’t regular werewolves,” Bobby told Sam as he finished helping Dean to the couch to relax. Not that he could now that Sam was around. “They were _real_ wolves. Big ones, but the real deal.”

 

“That’s weird,” Sam said, walking around to sit down next to Dean slowly, which was a relief for him. “Like, four legs, fur?”

 

Bobby nodded. “Yep.”

 

“ _Weird_.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, reaching for the TV remote. “It’s a fucking mystery, gang.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ha. Ha.”

 

He smirked. At least Sammy still thought he was funny. “So, what are you doing here, Gigantore?”

 

“Just... came to visit. Glad I did, maybe I could help.” Sam looked to Bobby and his mother, staring up at them as if he were a child again.

 

“Sam, this isn’t your problem,” he snapped firmly. “Okay? You don’t need to worry about me.”

 

“Dean, you’re my brother, it’s my job to worry about you.”

 

“We could use all of the help we can get, Dean,” Bobby pointed out.

 

Holding himself back felt too hard, too forced, but he couldn’t aruge with them. That he knew for fact. They were going to use Sam’s research skills to try in vain to dig up a cure, so Dean decided that he would just let them run around like chickens with their heads cut off if they wanted. He sighed, allowing his mind to go fuzzy as he stared at the TV. If there were ever a time for miracles to be real, _now_ would be a great time.

 

Bobby, Sam, and his mother all stood up and made their way back to the kitchen which was the impromptu research room, leaving him to sit and stare at the TV blankly. If his leg weren’t broken, he would leave early in the morning or night; he would run away, getting as far from his family as possible. If he disappeared then they wouldn’t have to worry about him, which would just be easier on everyone.

 

Dean felt his eyes grow heavy and he allowed them to close, sleeping wrapping its tendrils around him soon after.

 

\--

 

Crashing woke him up out of a dead sleep. The first thing he took note of was it was dark and he was still on the couch. The TV was off and the house was mostly quiet. Maybe he had dreamt up the noise. Frowning, Dean eased himself into sitting at the edge of the couch, and then the sky rumbled. It was thunderstorming, that was what had woken him up. He could have fell back with a releived _whoosh_ , but he shut his eyes and allowed his heart to calm down for a few beats instead.

 

His skin was itchy. He frowned, reaching to scratch his arms. As soon as he began to scratch, the itch lit on fire, making his entire body hurt. “Fuck,” he hissed, scratching as hard as possible at his arms. He scratched until he saw his skin come off and that was where he drew the line. Blood under his fingernails, Dean stared at the scratches on his arms, almost deep gouges from how hard he had dug at himself. That didn’t seem normal.

 

Heart palpitating, Dean stood up shakily, awkwardly limping over to the window and pushing open the curtains. There was a break in the storm clouds, and he could see the moon. It shone bright, full, and proud. Full. The moon was full. He could have screamed but instead, Dean turning and limped his way to the front door, yanking it open, and making his way out onto the grass. He couldn’t transform in the house, he had to do it out here. His skin still itched and there was a pain tickling him in the spine.

 

Finally, a cry of agony escaped him as he fell to his knees. His body was changing, he could feel his bones breaking and moving around. His skin split, blood poured onto the grass as he felt the fur sprout up like grass. His screams turned into snarls and growls as he spat his teeth out, watching his nails grow long and dark. His cast split and broke as his leg began to shift and move, a tail sprouting from his tailbone. His vision changed; night became like day. Shaking himself, Dean felt the viscous fluid, blood, clothing, and flesh fling away from his body in a horrific bath.

 

Walking felt strange and for a moment he almost fell over, but his back legs kept him from doing so. He took a step and then another and finally he was able to keep himself steady. There was an assault of smells afterward and he snorted and sneezed at the onslaught. Looking back at the house, Dean prayed his family would not come rushing out to seem like _this_ \- a wolf. He was a wolf. A real one.

 

Snarling, Dean took a step and then another before loping away toward the edge of the forest his house nestled in. He kept his nose to the ground for a while, sniffing, and picking up too many scents. His brain couldn’t process them at all, but he still somehow knew what he was smelling as soon as he sniffed them. Deer, blood, dirt, sweat, a skunk, rodents, shit, death, trees, nature. He knew them all. Taking a few more steps, Dean snorted and sneezed as a new smell hit him like a trainwreck. He knew this one too but he wasn’t quite sure what it was either; it was... human. But it wasn’t his brother, mother, or Bobby. It was someone he didn’t know.

 

Dean sped up, following the trail on instinct. He needed to know who was in his territory. When had he started thinking of this area of their property as his territory? Dean shook himself a bit, trying to fight the wolf instincts but he couldn’t, it was too strong an urge. The woods parted a bit, growing into a clearing, so he kept back in the brush because he recognized _another_ smell.

  
Gunpowder.

 

The trail he was following was from another hunter. He wasn’t sure if they were hunter in the traditional sense or the unconventional sense; either way, he was fucked. That was where he stopped following the trail. Instead, he turned and made his way back to the house. It stood in the clearing, lightning flashing above, but still, no rain fell. Maybe it was just a heat storm. Dean trotted around the yard, peeing on various things, marking them as his, which made him feel stupid, but also it made sense. He didn’t need _other_ wolves, or werewolves for that matter, coming along and thinking they could just piss on his stuff.

 

Once that was done, Dean ran down the driveway toward the road, loping alongside it, allowing only the moon to guide him. He ran down the road in the direction he wasn’t used to going. The goal was to get lost so he could stay far away from his family. Then, they wouldn’t have to worry about him, they could just go back to their normal, day-to-day lives. Dean picked up speed, running as fast as he could, letting the thick air whip through his fur, and his tongue to hang out of his mouth. No cars passed him and darkness kept meeting him, with a flash of lightning indicating his surroundings now and again.

 

Trees, the occasional house; living out in the middle of nowhere suddenly seemed ideal. He took roads at random, not paying attention to where he was going; not until he came across a bar he had never been to before. It was sitting in the darkness, the only light he had come across in a while. There were some trucks parked outside, and a few good looking bikes. The neon sign over it read:

 

_The Blue Moon_.

 

Dean snorted at the appropriateness, trying to stay back in the darkness. The smells were different here; not just the bar smells either. There was something _else_ here. Something different. He sniffed the air in desperation but he had no idea what it was; it didn’t smell dangerous, just new. Staying in the shadows, Dean made his way closer and closer to the bar, eventually hunkering down in some brush near the front door. The bar was surrounded by trees and wildlife, so he figured hec ould turn tail and flee if need be.

 

The weird-but-not-dangerous smell irked him. It was so strange... and it smelled so damn _good_. He sniffed and stayed still becaues the scent was coming from inside, so he couldn’t just waltz in and follow his nose. That would be a grand way to get shot. Not to mention found out. He rested his head on his paws, trying to ignore the smell of hamburgers, even though it made his stomach growl, which was kind of strange. Werewolves ate _people_? So why were cheeseburgers making him salivate still?

 

_Count your blessings._

 

Dean remained under the bush for what felt like hours until finally the scent grew stronger. It grew and grew until the door opened and out came a group of men. With the group of men was a younger man, dressed like a hooker, with extremely short denim cut-offs, a tight shirt that was ribbed in the back and showed off his well defined hips and stomach. He had smooth skin all over, barely any body hair at all. Dean felt something swell in his loins; it was _him_. The young guy was what smelled so damn good.

 

The men were walking him up to their motorcycles, and he was going with them, even though Dean could very well see that the kid was drunk or drugged, one of the two. The leader laughed and eased the kid over the bike. Dean snarled a little when he saw them take his shorts down, making him bend over. He coiled his body and waited until they were all busy admiring the young kid’s ass before launching out of the brush, snarling and snapping. Some of the men screamed and one of them pulled out a gun but he was going after their leader. He tackled the man to the ground, snarling and snapping angrily.

 

The smell of urine filled his nose as he realized the man had lost control of his bladder. He snapped and bit at his leather jacket, shredding it, and hoping that would be enough of a message. The young man was trying to stand up, so Dean releaesd the leader in favor of walking over to him and gently butting his head against the kid to help him stand up; he didn’t seem phased by the giant wolf assisting him, so Dean assumed he was high. The men were all screaming and fleeing, so Dean butted the kid back toward the bushes and trees.

 

He was young, maybe not even legal, Dean wasn’t sure, as he finally lightly knocked the kid onto his ass. He hit the ground a little too hard from the look of pain on his face, but Dean sat down across from him, admiring his svelte body and handsome face. His tail began to thump against the ground methodically; it took him a moment to realize it was wagging, like a dog when it was pleased.

 

“Wow,” the kid said, staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. “Shit, you’re a huge ass dog, man. Thanks for... saving me, I guess? Kinda weird, though.”

 

Dean felt his face split into a dog smile, his tongue hanging out and everything. He continued to wag his tail and he sniffed the air deeply. Oh yeah, it was definitely _this_ kid. He smelled like Heaven in a human suit.

 

“Maybe I’m still tripping.” Dean shook his head. The kid’s eyes widened further; they shone lke sapphire stars in his new vision. He had beautiful eyes. “Oh fuck, I know what you are.”

 

Dean’s tail stopped wagging.

 

“Loup-garou.”

 

He tilted his head to the side in confusion. The kid swallowed, looking suddenly nervous, and Dean could smell urine once again. If he could have frowned, he would have, but the smell of fear filled his nostrils strongly. The kid began to whisper. It took him a minute to realize he was muttering Hail Mary’s.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Dean, Dean, Honey, wake up. _Wake up_!”

 

Dean snorted and startled awake, glancing around in confusion. The world was a bit fuzzy and his body ached in ways he had never expected his body to ache. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Mom?”

 

“Honey, do you know where you are?” Mary knelt beside him, trying to help him sit up, while someone else was draping a blanket over him.

 

“No...” He took a deep breath and finally focused. He was not at home or by the bar he had ended up last night. No, he was in the middle of town, in front of a market. Naked. Buck naked. “Oh fuck-.”

 

“Sheriff Mills called us this morning,” Mary whispered to him. “Found out here, passed out, thought something bad happened to you. I had to convince her you were fine and you had probably slept walked again.”

 

His face began to turn red as he realized how many people had gathered and were all muttering to each other. He snatched the blanket and kept it wrapped around his body firmly before starting to stand up shakily. Knees feeling weak, Dean stumbled toward his mother’s car, trying not to look anyone in the eye. Especially anyone he knew... which was just about everyone.

 

The ride back to the house was quiet, until they pulled up, and he was able to get up and walk outside. It only then he noted his leg was most definitely no longer broken, and the rest of his bruises, scrapes, and gashes were all healed. It hadn’t been a nightmare after all; he really was a werewolf. A loup-garou as the kid had called him. The memory of what had happened with him came back like a car accident:

 

 

_“Stay away from me. Stay away from me!” Castiel screamed hysterically._

_Dean huffed, falling back a few steps, unsure of himself. He had been thankful a moment ago, but not anymore._

_“Get away from me!” Castiel began to stand up, backing up as fast as he could against his tree. “Please, don’t eat me. Leave me alone!”_

_Dean turned and took off in the opposite direction so he didn’t bring too much attention to himself. Not that he wanted to leave the kid by himself, but it was better than be caught and shot. Hopefully he would be okay._

So, Dean had fled the scene and after that things sort of began to blur together. He couldn’t remember what had happened and how he had ended up by the market, passed out. It was just blank darkness.

 

There was a bloody mess on the lawn, which must have been from his body. Bile filled Dean’s throat as he realized he had technically wrecked his human form to beome the canine form. _I should be dead_.

 

“Dean, Honey, are you alright?” Mary asked him.

 

He blinked and looked up at her, realizing she was staring at him the same exact way she used to stare at him when he was a child and hurt. “Yeah, Mom,” he breathed.

 

“You’re sure? You seem so far away.” She pressed her hand against his forehead, probably checking to see if he had a fever of some sort.

 

“Yeah,” he muttered dully. “Perfect.”

 

“I’m fine, Mom, really.” Finally, Dean stood and climbed out of the car, trying not to stare at the ground too hard. “Where’s Sam?”

 

“Sam’s inside.”

 

“Right.” She called after him but he ignored her, instead heading inside, hoping he could find some solace in Sam. “Sammy?”

 

“Upstairs!”

 

Dean kept the blanket or towel or whatever it was wrapped around his body to make his way upstairs. “Sammy?”

 

Sam slid around the corner, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth? “Yerh?”

 

The sentence ‘ _I’m a werewolf’_ formed on his tongue like a dirty phrase; as if he were about to talk poorly about Christ to a Catholic priest. He stumbled over the words blandly, unsure of how to _talk_. How could he tell his brother, the kid who had looked up to him their entire lives, that he was now a monster. He was now the thing they hunted. Words failed him. He simply stared at Sam in silence and that spoke louder than his words could.

 

Sam removed the toothbrush from his mouth slowly, his jaw going slightly slack. “So... you are, then?”

 

A lump the size of a goose egg kept him from speaking so he just nodded, which was enough. They both knew the implication.

 

“Shit,” Sam whispered. “Well, maybe there is a cure, Dean. You never know, right?”

 

“Sam.” Saying his brother’s name had seemed so simple but it came out forced, thick, and emotional. He didn’t want to admit his fear but he was afraid. He feared for himself but mostly for his family.

 

Sam’s lips formed into a thin line as he realized the true weight of the matter at hand. “It’ll be okay, Dean. It’ll be okay.”

 

Nodding seemed like the best thing to do.

 

\--

 

The look on Missouri’s face was not the looked he had expected her to have when his mother said the words, “My son is a werewolf.” She didn’t look horrified or surprised or remotely stunned. She nodded at them both, considering the sentence fully in her mind. Dean didn’t look her in the eye; he hadn’t been able to look anyone in the eye for the past few weeks. It was too hard. Everyone expected an animal to stare back at them, not _him_. Not Dean Winchester.

 

“And you’ve come to me,” Missouri finally said slowly. “Why?”

 

“I’ve heard of you,” Mary replied, her hand lying on his. “I’ve heard of your _gifts_.”

 

Dean glanced up at Missouri slowly, still refusing to make eye contact, his face grim and empty. Guarding his feelings had become almost essential lately. It wasn’t something he was a virgin to, but it felt more necessary now that he was a monster. Missouri looked at him and as soon as he felt her gaze, he dropped his back down to the rug on the floor. It was patterned intricately with a story; he wasn’t sure if it were Biblical or allegorical and he wasn’t about to ask.

 

“You think I can cure him.”

 

Mary sighed. “Yes.”

 

“Hm.” Missouri stood and walked away, leaving them in the living room to shift awkwardly in their seats. Dean _knew_ she couldn’t cure him but his mother was hellbent on getting her son back, no matter the extreme measures needed. When Missouri returned she held a book in her hands, flipping to a page to read from the text. “Supposedly, there a cure for your boy’s condition.”

 

“There is?” Mary gasped, squeezing his wrist. She must have thought those words alone would instill life into his veins but they didn’t. He didn’t even bother to glance up at her.

 

“Mhm... It ain’t pretty. Involves sacrifice, blood, love.” Missouri snapped the book shut and set it aside. “Under the full moon after six lunar cycles have passed since the Turning, a loup-garou can be changed back to his former self if certain rituals are performed.”

 

“What type of rituals?” Mary asked slowly, already sounding skeptical. “And why six lunar cycles?”

 

“Do I _look_ like a walking and talking werewolf encyclopedia to you?” Missouri tsked at them with a shake of her head. “I don’t know _why_ six, it just _says_ six, stop asking stupid questions. Now, the rituals for a cure are messy, and they ain’t any fun for _anybody_. You’re better off as you are-.”

 

“ _Tell_ me,” Dean growled angrily, finally looking up at her. “I want to know.”

 

“Under the light of the full moon on the seventh lunar cycle, if you bathe in the blood of a beloved it will turn you back to human.”

 

Dean blinked in surprise. His stomach twisted and he realized quickly that he was going to have to _kill_ someone to turn back into being human. And not just anyone - some he loved. Someone he cared about. “You’re joking.”

 

“I hardly ever joke, child.”

 

“No.” Dean stood up abruptly. “I’m going home.”

 

Mary reached for him desperately. “Honey, if it works-.”

 

He rounded on her, raising his voice, which he hardly did to his mother but it seemed appropriate. “I am _not_ going to _kill_ someone I care about and _bathe_ in their blood. I’ll become a hermit before I do that.” He glared at Missouri angrily, wnating to blame her for all of this. “Besides, that’s just charlatan, bullshit hoodoo.”

 

Missouri sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing at him, but he stormed down the hall before anything else could be said. The sun beat down on him relentlessly and for a moment, Dean wanted to return to the North; it would be cooler up there and there was more wilderness for him to become lost within. If he separated himself _from_ humanity, then the likelihood of killing someone went down from slim to none at all.

 

He was only a block from Missouri’s house when he sniffed the air sharply. The scent from the bar flooded back to him so hard he almost fell back a few steps. It made his dick throb and he almost grew too hard to keep walking; he shifted around, trying to tuck himself away before continuing down the sidewalk. Opposite the end of the street his house was on, was another house; it was old and worn down, with barely any life to it at all, its exterior probably once a vibrant yellow was now more or less a washed-out grey; its windows were stained dirty, and the porch looked as if it were falling apart.

 

But the smell was emanating from the house so strongly he found himself standing on the porch and staring at the screen door helplessly. There was a doorbell but it looked broken, so instead he knocked on the screen door, listening to it rattle against his knuckles. It echoed around him, the porch amplifying the sound so much it made him flinch. After knocked four times, the inner door finally opened and there he stood - the kid.

 

_He_ was the smell.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked, sounding tired and put off. His hair was a tousled mess and he was wearing a shirt that was much too big for his frame, and nothing else.

 

“Hi,” he managed to say, still blown away by those baby blues. “I’m Dean.”

 

“...Okay? Are you selling something or...?”

 

“No- I... We met... last week.” Dean bit his lip, unsure of how to tell Castiel that _he_ was the werewolf.

 

“I don’t remember you, I’m sor-.”

 

“CAS! The hell you talkin’ to, hrm?” A much older man appeared from behind Castiel, looking annoyed and put off. “Who the hell are you?”

 

Dean glanced from the older man back to Castiel, seeing his face fallen and afraid. Immediately, Dean felt a surge of protectiveness fill him; this man was either holding Cas against his will or he was abusing him. Dean didn’t like it, not one bit. “I’m Dean Winchester, Sir.”

 

“What do you want?” he demanded angrily.

 

“I just wanted to talk to Cas, that’s all.” Dean didn’t bother to offer his hand to the domineering man; he wasn’t worthy of a handshake. Not in Dean’s opinion.

 

“Well, he ain’t got time to talk to you. Get outta here. Go on, get out of here!”

 

Dean turned his eyes back on Castiel, seeing that he was staring at the ground, looking tired and ashamed, Dean felt his stomach twist. He wanted to help Cas but for the moment, Dean left the porch, heading down the street. For once, he felt as if his lycanthropy would come in handy soon.

 

\--

 

“Do you know anything about the yellow house at the end of the street?” Dean asked Bobby as they worked on a truck in the garage. He had convinced Bobby he could work still, which had proven to be true so far.

 

“Be more specific,” Bobby replied as he rolled under the car.

 

Dean leaned back against the side, thinkin on Cas’ house. “It’s old. Faded. It’s kinda super beaten up, the porch is falling down. You know about the people living there?”

 

“Hrm. That’s Azazel’s house.”

 

“Who?” Dean asked, frowning as he focused on the old man behind Cas.

 

“Son of a bitch he is,” Bobby snarled. “Ran over a damn dog last week just to do it. Awful bastard.”

 

“He got a son?”

 

“No. Why?”

 

Dean bristled. “He’s got a younger kid in his house. Probably barley legal... I don’t know who he is, but his name is Castiel. I met him... as a wolf, and I could smell him. I recognized his smell, I followed it to the house. He’s _there_ , in that house,” Dean growled, snarling angrily. “I could tell he was afraid, I should of done something right then.”

 

Bobby wheeled himself back out, staring up at him. “It ain’t your job to save the whole world, Dean.”

 

“You said that guy was a dick,” Dean snapped. “I didn’t like the way Cas looked!” He stared back down at Bobby, needing Bobby to _understand_.

 

Bobby stood up and firmly gripped his shoulder. “Listen to me, boy, you’ve got other things to worry about right now. Alright? You’re so bothered, we’ll call the cops. Okay?”

 

Dean glowered, looking away, and giving up on trying to convince Bobby it was necessary for him to save Castiel. “Sorry Bobby,” he replied quietly.

 

“Good.” Bobby slid back down to work ont he car and the topic of Castiel faded between them.

 

\--

 

Following Castiel’s smell back to the house wasn’t hard, especially not when he was in his other form. He trotted down the street, going from shadow to shadow, the scent filling him completely. He snarled and tried not to drool, trotting up to the back of the house. The lights were on in the living room and when he peered up over the edge of a window, Dean could see Castiel and Azazel. A growl buried deep in his chest rumbled out; Castiel was bent over the couch, Azazel was casually thrusting into him.

 

Seeing Cas being fucked by this older bastard made him angry. Dean snarled and he snarled and snapped. The noises made both of them look over, startled. Azazel threw Cas to the ground, fixing his pants, before walking over to pick up a gun. Dean backed off, waiting for Azazel to come outside. The back door opened and he ran, he ran as hard as he could into the door, knocking Azazel back, the gun to the left. He pressed both front paws into Azazel’s chest, snapping, and snarling in the man’s face.

 

Azazel however was laughing. _Laughing_. He wasn’t afraid. He was just laughing.

 

“Kill him!” Castiel screamed, and Dean wasn’t sure if he were talking to him or Azazel. Maybe it didn’t matter.

 

“Oh, you young little wolves, think they’re so damn tough,” Azazel cackled. “You ain’t _shit_ compared to me, boy.” He continued to laugh; he was drunk. Dean could smell the alcohol on him.

 

Dean snarled and sunk his teeth into Azazel’s throat, tearing it out easily. Hot blood spattered all over him, the walls, the floor, Cas. They were soon all coated in the sticky liquid. Dean slid off of Azazel’s body, before walking over to Cas, gently sniffing at him. He smelled so _good_.

 

“Please don’t eat me,” Castiel whispered. “Please.”

 

Dean whined, snuffing, and sniffing at Cas’ hair and neck gently. He even gave Cas a few licks, trying to show him he wasn’t here to eat him, he was here to save him.

 

“I’ve never met a nice loup-garou before,” Castiel whispered. He slid his fingers into Dean’s fur, petting, and scratching. “You killed him.”

 

Dean licked the side of Cas’ face and wagged his tail.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He nodded and licked Cas again.

 

“You have to hide his body... clean up the mess... or they’ll think I did it. The cops will arrest _me_.”

 

Dean huffed because he hadn’t thought of that. He’d take care of it in the morning. For the moment he wanted to lay down with Cas. He sniffed him all over, feeling that fire burn in his loins again; he was embarrassed when he felt his body swell from desire.

 

Castiel snorted when he saw. “Don’t worry,” Cas whispered, scratching his ears. “Not the first time I’ve seen a loup-garou get aroused. You smell me, don’t you?”

 

Dean nodded again, sitting quickly as he attempted to ignore his body. He couldn’t fuck Cas _now_. Not like this. And not without his permission.

 

Castiel sighed. “Yeah, I figured you could. Look, I’m flattered and all, but being a wolf’s mate really isn’t on my to-do list. So... I’ll have to decline your offer.”

 

Mate? Dean tilted his head to the side. Who had said anything about mates?

 

“You don’t know? When you smell someone that strongly it’s because you view them as a potential mate. I’m not really into the whole... ‘get fucked by a wolf thing’. I did that once, it didn’t go well for me.” Castiel turned, lifting the large shirt he wore, and revealed scars along his back; they were long and deep, gouged hard into his skin. “I got those from a previous lover... So, I’d like to not have you as a round two.”

 

Dean nuzzled Cas’ scars, feeling sorry for him.

 

“It’s okay. It’s not like you did it.” The shirt dropped and Castiel turned to face him again, smiling slightly. “I am flattered though. It’s a real honor, being considered a mate.”

 

Dean nuzzled Cas’ face and neck, wondering if he could worm his way into Cas’ liking. The only way to find out was to try. He wouldn’t be like Cas’ old lover; he wouldn’t hurt him. He would rather die before he hurt him.

 

“So, I take it you’re gonna stay here all night, huh?” Castiel asked.

 

Dean glanced down, trying to appear abashed.

 

“Okay. I’m going to bed. Clean up the mess in the morning, okay?”

 

He nodded again, looking up as Cas stood and left the room. He hadn’t expected Cas to be his _mate_ but it made sense; if he could smell Cas so intoxicatingly... and the smell was downright arousing, well, mates just made perfect sense. He would be a good lover for Cas, he would just have to prove it.

 


End file.
